


War Path

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from the episode "War Path."</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Path

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #13 under the pen name Laura Cathcart.

_"What do you figure we'll get for this if we get caught?"_

 

          Norton Drake sat in front of his computer, typing furiously.  There had to be a way…  No one, absolutely no one could hide a computer file from Norton Drake – especially when he had help.

          Norton adjusted his in-the-ear operator's receiver, saying, "I've never seen anything like this."

          "Me either," replied the male voice on the other end of the line.  "I think they might've split the file into several pieces and buried them inside other more innocuous files."

          "Great," Norton grumbled, trying another approach.  "I appreciate the help, Boz.  Really.  You'd have to meet this guy to understand why I'm—"

          "Oh, I'm happy to help, Norton," was the reply.  "The guys and I don't have a case right now and the books are caught up, so it's this or more work on the next video game."

          "The game sounds like it'd be more rewarding," Norton grumbled.  "He's a real iron ass… you know?  Spit and polish, by the book, no sense of humor… hey!" he barked, noticing a crack in the security wall surrounding the personnel files hidden at the Baton Rouge repository.  "You see that?"

          "Yes.  Yes, I do.  It's similar to what happened the last time I did this.  Try backtracking into the root directory…"

          Drake and his companion in crime, Murray "Boz" Bozinsky, both typed with renewed enthusiasm.

          "What do you figure we'll get for this if we get caught?" Norton asked, waiting for the Cray to carry out his latest set of commands.

          "I believe the standard penalty is seven to fifteen years in a federal penitentiary," Murray replied.  "There!"

          "Yes!" Norton hooted.  "We did it!"

          "I'll patch the holes," Murray offered.  "Make sure they can't track the break-in back to us."

          "Great," Norton said.  "I'll get started on breaking the encryption."

          "Good luck."

          "Thanks.  I owe you one," Norton said, a huge smile on his face.

          "Any time," Murray said.  "It was a boss and bodacious challenge, if I do say so myself."

          "Catch ya later, Boz."

          "You got it, hack-miester, mon."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Norton took a sip of his latest coffee blend and watched as the complete personnel file on Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse unzipped itself and decoded on his screen.  He glanced at the clock:  2 a.m.  He yawned.  Well, it was worth it; besides, he didn't have anything better to do until the rest of the Project got back.

          According to the last call from the colonel, they'd found Harrison at the power plant and were in the middle of a cleanup.  Another long night.  He yawned again and turned back to the monitor.  _It better be worth it_ , he thought, scanning the first page.

          Basic bio information:  name, Paul Ridge Ironhorse.  _Ridge?  Bet that was a pain when he was a kid..._

          Date of birth, April 7, 1950… _April 7th, huh?_

          Height six foot… weight 175 pounds… hair color black… eye color black…   _No surprises there_.  Place of birth, Tahlequah, Oklahoma…   _Talla-what?  Definitely not Mr. Big City._

          Parents' names, Michael and Hanna Ironhorse… siblings, four, two brothers and two sisters…

          Norton paused, his eyes registering the rest of the information.  Father dead, older brother dead, older sister dead…  He leaned back, sighing heavily as a sudden wave of guilt washed over him.  _Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all._

          Norton was close to all his brothers and sisters and it was difficult to imagine what it would feel like to lose one of them…   _That hurts, really hurts…_

          He pressed page down.

          Scholastic information.  The grin returned.  K through 6 at Saint Barthelme's Catholic School for Boys.  _Oh, man, I bet that was a joy and a half._  Junior high at the Tahlequah Boys Middle School.  Sequoia High School in Cherokee, North Carolina.  _All boarding schools?  Maybe his parents didn't like him..._

          West Point.  _Ho, ho, ho, graduated_ third _in his class?  Mister-what's-a-PCB?_   University of Texas…

          "For a master's degree in International Relations?" Norton read aloud, his eyes widening.  _What kind of game are you playing, Colonel?_

          "And the University of Georgia, for a second masters in… anthropology?  Well, well, well…"

          Page down.  Military Education and Training:  Airborne, Ranger, Infantry, Special Forces, Recondo, SEALs, Advanced Language School, Defense Intelligence School, Command and Staff, Armed Forces Staff College, Army War College…

          "Whoa, you've been holding out on us, big guy," Norton told the absent man.  "Playing dumb…"

          Page down.  Military Assignments.  Vietnam, Texas, Germany, Georgia, North Carolina…

          Norton noted that several pages were missing.  "Probably the Delta Force assignments," he reasoned.  "Wonder where _that_ information is."

          Page down.  Promotions.  Second Lieutenant right out of West Point…  First Lieutenant a year later… Captain the next year…

          "You don't waste any time, do you?"

          Major in seven, then Lieutenant Colonel.  _Keep this up and you'll be a Joint Chief before the turn of the century._

          Page down.  Accommodations.  "Would you look at this?" Norton said into the empty room.  "There's enough of these babies to decorate a Christmas tree…"  He paused, staring at the screen.  "Look at all those purple hearts!

          "Oh, now I'm seeing things…  The Congressional Medal of Honor?  I'll be damned.  We've got an honest to goodness all American hero on our hands.  Step aside Rambo…"

          He checked the date.  "For something that happened in Vietnam."

          Page down.  Medical records.  He scanned the list of injuries, ranging from the superficial to the critical, whistling softly as he read the graphic description of a back injury Captain Ironhorse had sustained:  "while a prisoner of the VietCong."

          Despite himself, Norton continued reading the list of injuries Ironhorse had endured while a prisoner of war.

          "Nine months in the V.A…."

_None of my business…_

          He stopped, picking another page – descriptions of a beating a seventeen-year-old Paul took just before he left for West Point.  Racially motivated…

          "Now _that_ sounds familiar."  _Maybe we have more in common that I first thought._

          He reached out and tapped page down again, but the machine beeped.  He typed a series of commands.

          A new window opened up.  At the top it read:  "Here's the missing pages.  Enjoy.  Boz."

          "Great," Norton said, his gaze sweeping down the page despite his best intentions.

          More details from Paul's Vietnam service…  Psych profile from the Delta Force selection course…  A psychological evaluation following a mission in the Middle East…  _What's this?_

          He took a closer look.  A six-year-old girl, killed in a mortar attack…

          "Oh boy…" he sighed, leaning back in his wheelchair.  "This was a bad idea."

          Reaching out, he typed furiously for a moment, then sent the files into a secured directory.

          "Sorry, Colonel, but it took too much time and effort to find 'em to trash 'em."

          Norton closed his eyes and tried to forget the insights the purloined files had provided.  The sound of the door opening and closing echoed down the stairs.  They were home…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse sat at his desk, finishing his report for General Wilson – aliens stealing human brains.  It didn't make for pleasant reading.  A quiet knock at his closed door interrupted.  "Come," he called, his voice as tired as he felt.

          The door opened and Norton rolled in.  He closed the door behind him.  "Gertrude, ahead four," he commanded the voice-activated wheelchair and it carried him to the opposite side of the desk.

          Paul's eyebrows rose in graceful arcs.  "Something wrong, Mr. Drake?"

          "Uh," the hacker started.  "I guess I'd have to say yes."

          Ironhorse pressed save and closed his laptop, the exhaustion evaporating.  "What can I do for you?"

          Norton made a quick study of the colonel's desk.

          "Norton?"

          Drake looked up.  "I, uh…"

          "What?" the colonel asked, looking more concerned.

          "I, uh, hacked… into your files."

          Ironhorse leaned back in his chair.  At least it wasn't the aliens...  "I see."

          "It wasn't easy, either," Drake said with a short laugh.  "I had to get help to do it, but I was the only one who, uh, saw the contents."

          The colonel nodded in silence.

          Norton waited, feeling like he was sitting in front of the school principal.  Why didn't Ironhorse say something?  Why didn't he explode?  He risked a glance up.

          "So," Ironhorse said, "is there something you wanted to ask me about?"

          Norton blinked.  "No," he said carefully.  "I, uh, wanted to… apologize."

          "Why?  You wanted to find my files and you did.  I'm sure you aren't sorry about that."

          "No, but—"  Drake broke off, confused.

          "Was there anything else, then?"

          Norton studied the colonel's face.  Impassive, neutral… this was _not_ what he'd been expecting.

          "Look," the hacker started over, "it was a challenge I just couldn't let stand.  You have all our files, so I thought I'd find yours.  And it wasn't easy.  And I'm not sorry that I did it."

          "Then why are you here, Mr. Drake?"

          Norton leaned back in his wheelchair, frowned, and thought for a moment.  He could lie or he could tell the soldier the truth.  Which would be best?  No clue.

          "Once I broke into the system, found the files, broke the code they were stored in, I, uh, read some."  He waited for a reaction, but there was still nothing.  "That's why I came up here," Drake explained.  "I had no right to know those things.  Not unless you wanted to tell me and the others about it, and for that I am sorry."  He sighed heavily.  "Look, I know you've read all about us, and you haven't talked about a lot of things you could…"  He trailed off, not knowing exactly what it was he wanted to say.

          Ironhorse weighed the comments for a moment, then nodded once.  "Apology accepted."

          "Thanks," Norton said, chagrined.

          The colonel leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk.  He toyed with a pen for a moment before he spoke.  "You know, most of that information, with the exception of my medical records, and the Delta Force selection, are a matter of public as well as private record.  Why didn't you take that route?"

          Norton offered up a sheepish grin.  "No challenge."

          "I see," the colonel replied.  "And what do you plan on doing with my records?"

          "Nothing.  I put them in a sealed directory.  They're safer now than before I found them."

          "I see."  Ironhorse leaned back again.  "Mr. Drake, I think I might have a job for you."

          "Another one?"

          "Something to keep you busy, when you don't have anything better to do.  Something that will appeal to your need for a challenge."

          "Oh?"

          "Yes.  I want you to develop a new security system for Army personnel files."

          Drake chuckled.  "I guess I deserve that one, don't I."

          "You do.  You come up with something that'll keep prying eyes like your own out, and I'll forget this happened."

          "And if I refuse?"

          "No more pizza deliveries."

          Norton chuckled softly and shook his head.  "You're a hard man, Colonel."

          "Someone has to keep you civilians in line, Mr. Drake."

          "I'll get started on it tomorrow.  Right now I just want a long date with a soft bed."  He grabbed the wheels of his chair and rolled backwards, pausing at the door.  "You know, we have a few things in common."

          "Yes, I do know."

          "And you don't have to play dumb."

          Paul's eyebrows arched slightly.  "I'm not, Norton.  I'm simply giving Dr. Blackwood what he's the most comfortable with."

          "I'll bet that's all tied up in that leadership stuff, right?"

          The whisper of a crooked smile tilted Ironhorse's lips.  "Something like that."

          Norton nodded.  "One thing's for sure," he said, opening the door and maneuvering to leave.

          "What's that?"

          "I don't think I'll be calling you Rambo anymore."

          Ironhorse chuckled.  "Then it was worth it."

          "Good night, Colonel."

          "Good night, Norton."

          Drake rolled into the hallway, the soldier's parting remark reaching him as he pushed for the elevator.  "But if Blackwood ever gets a copy, I'll personally use you for target practice."

          "Aye-Aye, Colonel," Norton said, rolling into the elevator, smiling.  He waited for the door to close and pressed 2.  One day he'd have to sit down and have a long talk with Paul Ironhorse.  They had more to discuss than he'd ever guessed.

          The elevator door opened and he rolled out feeling better than he had since the war of the worlds began.


End file.
